


Close the Curtains

by Cecelia2046



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, I have a support team to guarantee that, I have no idea where this is going, but this is gonna be a fluff, which consists of one person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-02-10 23:18:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12922338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cecelia2046/pseuds/Cecelia2046
Summary: Just an ordinary love story. Maybe.





	1. I Loved You from the Start

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Harry Potter. This is for fun. Thank you my beta reynardinepttr! Sorry I'm shit at English apparently omg.

I saw her and I said to James, “I’m in love.”

James was texting to Albus or Victoire or whichever cousin our twisted huge family has. He hummed. I waited. About ten text-sent pop sounds later, he jumped a bit and turned his eyes to me. “What?” he asked.

“I’m in love? That thing’s gonna get you killed you know, if you keep putting all your goddamn attention into it.”

James wasn’t having any of it. “You’re in love with who?”

“Whom,” I replied calmly. “With her.” I pointed to her as discreetly as I could manage.

James turned his head and let out a soft “whoa”.

I know. That’s what I felt several moments ago. 

The thing about me that you have to know is, I’m a very calm person. You have to be if you want some degree of emotional privacy as a Metamorphmagus. You need to train yourself not to change your hair colour according to your favorite person in the vicinity. That’s very cute and all when you’re a baby. Still cute when you’re a kid, but once you step into teenage years, it becomes inconvenient when all you want is to “play it cool”, you know? And now I’m an adult, that’d be simply embarrassing.

I know my mum didn’t care about showing her emotional status for everyone not colourblind to see, according to hearsay from Harry or Ginny or Ron. But I’m not my mum. I’ve been told many times that my mum was a lot more chipper than me. I don’t know why they keep telling me that. Maybe they just want me to be happier by setting up a role model out of my late mother, as ridiculous as that sounds?

I sometimes think that even though I’m a Metamorphmagus like my mum, I’m more like my dad. Not that I know about him much, mind you, but a kid has a lot to think about when he’s an orphan yet at the same time he has thousands of family members. Have you seen the Weasleys? Honestly.

Anyway, I’m in love but I’m pretty sure that my expression didn’t change at all. Totally cool. This woman is gorgeous. Not in a super model way or something. She’s just so… I don’t know. I just can’t take my eyes off her. She’s different, like she knows a lot of things and has been to a lot of places, yet I can still picture her sitting next to the fireplace in the Burrow and drinking tea with a book on her lap. It’s unsettling, to be honest.

James is saying something.

I turned my eyes to him. “What did you just say?”

“She’s coming our way, mate.” James stuffed his phone in the back pocket of his jeans, seeming a little nervous, which is totally out of character for him.

She is coming our way. Yes she is. Suddenly I don’t know the purpose of my own hands anymore. Where should I put them? Why do I have them if I can’t come up with a comfortable place to put them? Do I look at her? Do I pretend that my phone buzzed? Do I pretend to have a stroke? Do I pretend to be high?

I don’t know what I'm doing and she’s in front of us. She might be in her 30s? I don’t know. I can’t breathe.

She opened her mouth.

“James? James Potter?”

What?

James visibly jumped. Chill, mate. She just said your name. It’s not like she screamed your name when she came.

Wait, what? What now?

“Yes, ma’am. I mean, My Lady. I mean, yes. Yes. I am. James Sirius Potter. James Potter. The Junior. Just James. I mean, yes. My pleasure. And you are?” James stuttered his way through it. I’m proud of him. I still can’t form a sentence.

She smiled. I’ve never seen such a smile before. It’s not sunshine or daisies or unicorns or rainbows. It’s a little warm and a little sad at the same time. It’s like that first moment when there’s a breeze and you realize that summer is ending soon, but it’s not unpleasant, especially if you’re a fan of autumn.

“I’m Hermione Granger. Glad to make your acquaintance, too.”

“Hermione Granger? You’re Hermione Granger? Oh my god. Oh my god. I’m such a fan. You fought next to my dad in the war, yeah? And your thesis on that new application of dragon blood is so inspiring!” James is beaming.

“Thank you.” She gave him another smile. “Are you taking me to Harry? Is that why you’re here? Harry said in the last letter that he was going to send you to welcome me, since he has this meeting that he can’t get out of.”

“Oh yes, definitely. Jeez, dad didn’t say that you’re so hot. What are you, 40 years old now?”

Way to go, James.

She didn’t take offence. “More or less.” And then she turned to me. She’s staring at me. “Teddy?” Her voice is somehow lower. She looks a lot younger at that moment, like a school girl.

I straightened. “You know me?”

She closed her eyes for a bit. “You were still very young when I left Britain,” she said. “No wonder you don’t remember me.”

And suddenly she’s hugging me. She’s tiny compared to me, but I still feel enveloped. Her hair smells nice. I don’t know that scent. I tentatively put my right hand on her back between her shoulder blades. I shouldn’t have done that, because now she’s hugging me harder. She’s so soft. I’m getting hard. This hug needs to stop. Right. Now.

She pulled back like she heard my thoughts. “Shall we?” That’s directed to James, who’s currently staring at me with a thoughtful look.

“Yes, this way, Hermione. May I call you Hermione?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m practically your aunt."

We’re driving to James’s flat in Muggle London and then taking the floo. James is driving. Hermione takes the shotgun. I’m on the backseat. James struck up a conversation about her academic theory about something. I’m not listening. I’m just feeling her voice and thinking.

It’s not a secret that Harry and Ron have a third best friend. They talk about her. Not a lot, but they’re not keeping her a secret from us kids. We’ve all been curious once, but the moment we got a textbook she wrote, the curiosity disappeared. You don't really get curious about your textbook writer. No one does. We all tend to avoid them. So all we know is that she’s their best friend, she fought in the war, and she left for academic achievements. Nice and easy. 

Come to think of it, why hasn't she come back to visit? Ever? If she’s such a good friend of Harry and Ron’s?

James is enamoured. He might have a crush on her. I can tell. What about her? I can’t see her face on the backseat. Well, a little. I can see her left ear, partly obscured by her hair. It’s pale and delicate. I want to touch it. I want to lick it. I’m being weird. Her neck is there for me to observe, too. I know if she turns around this moment and sees me, I might as well kiss my chance with her goodbye. This is so creepy, staring at that little patch of skin like a serial killer or… skin… fanatic.

James saved me from myself. “Are you coming with us, Teddy?”

I turned my eyes to him. “Sure. Why not?”

He has this meaningful little evil smile in his eyes in the rear mirror. “I thought you had a date with a certain blonde?”

“It’s not a date. It’s just a drink.”

“So? Are you going or not?”

“I can cancel.”

James whistled. I know what’s on his mind. He’s such a child.

“Are you single, James?” Hermione asked.

James suddenly tensed. “Ah, no?”

Hermione laughed. “Is that a question?”

James chuckled nervously. “Hey, Hermione, are you obligated to tell my parents everything regarding to me? Like, real-aunt stuff?”

I guess that’s the problem when you have parents. You love them. They love you. But somehow you just cannot be the people who know each other the most.

I’m a little surprised that Hermione actually thought about it for a bit. I can tell James is surprised too. People all give quick answers when they’re asked about this. Angelina will say “you bet your ass I will tell Ginny everything kids”. George will say “nah dude this is between you and me, pranksters’ honour”. But Hermione, she’s thinking about it like she’s not sure.

After a moment, she said, “I guess it depends.”

James is a little miffed. “Depends on what?”

She shrugged. “On whether or not it’s necessary to tell them?”

“How do you decide that?” I asked. I didn’t realise that I was already leaning forward and ready to participate.

She turned around and looked at me. “Well, I guess if James’s secret might put him in grave danger, then I should tell Harry about it. Otherwise I’m a pretty good secret keeper.” She paused for a moment, added, “What about you, Teddy? Do you tell Harry everything about James?”

I don’t know why, but her words warmed me in an unexpected way, like in her way of asking, she put me in the same level as her - adult, independent, guardian of that big child sitting in the driver’s seat. It means that she doesn’t see me as a child; instead, she sees me as a partner in crime in this car if James spills one of his secrets, and that pleases me enormously.

I looked into her eyes and said, “I’m the best secret keeper in the world.”

She shivered. Maybe. Maybe it’s just a trick of light and shadows and the speeding scenery outside the window. She didn’t look away though. I didn’t look away either. One moment passed and then we missed our opportunity to look away without being awkward or weird, so we have to keep looking at each other. I can’t control myself that well. I looked down to her lips for a split second, but she caught me. I can tell.

Damn it.

She silently turned around completely. James glared at me for a bit. Merlin, give me a break.

“So,” James said, “if I tell you something about my love life you wouldn’t tell my parents?”

Her voice is steady. “No. Unless your girlfriend plans to kill you.”

“That’s not as far-fetched as you would imagine,” James laughed a bit.

She’s totally relaxed now. “So you have one? Girlfriend?”

James hummed.

“And Harry doesn’t know?”

James hummed again.

She laughed a bit. “Okay. I won’t tell him, but I want a full report.”

James laughed along. “You need to win my trust first.”

She might murmured something like “Harry Potter’s fucking son”. I’m sure I heard wrong.

It’s pretty uneventful after that. We flooed to the Ministry, sat outside Harry’s office, and waited for him to end whatever’s going on in there. An assistant Auror, Kris, said that Auror Potter knew we’d arrived and he’d meet us as soon as possible. It’s interesting, the Auror Office. Everyone’s constantly on the move. Only one or two are sitting at their desks and chewing their quills. I’m guessing case closing report.

Hermione sits between me and James. James is on his phone again. He’s been on his phone ever since Malfoy Industries invented a method to make Muggle devices work normally in magical environments, which means five years ago. I think. Harry threatened to reducto that thing once, but he never did. I guess for a man like Harry, the more ways to find his family at any given time, the better.

She wasn’t doing anything, just watching the office and taking it all in. She’s been away for quite some time, after all. I can feel her beside me even when I’m not looking at her. I don’t feel warmth or smell her scent or something like that. No. I just feel her presence.

And then someone said, in a weak voice, “Merlin’s balls. Hermione.”

I looked up, and there’s Ron. He’s pale as a corpse.

Hermione stood up and said calmly, “Hi, Ron.”

And then he’s kissing her. And my blood turned to ice in my veins. 


	2. You Don't Wear My Chains

She stepped away after a few seconds and said, “Damn.”

Ron nodded. “Damn.”

I’m still not breathing.

Hermione laughed, “After all these years, Ron! Still not one spark. What the hell is wrong with us?”

Ron shrugged. “Just our bloody luck I guess.”

Okay. Okay. Now I’m breathing. What’s this? Is this gonna happen everytime she meets an old friend? I’m not sure I can stomach watching her wandering around and kissing people.

Who said anything about following her around?

They’re still catching up. James elbowed me. “Mate?”

“What?”

“You’re staring.”

“Astute observation.”

“You were not kidding when you said you were in love, huh?”

I turned to look at him. “I wasn’t.”

He sighed. “Alright. I’ll help you.”

I said very slowly and calmly, “I don’t need your help, Don Juan.”

He’s indignant. “Of course you do. Look at her. You can’t nail that all by yourself.”

I know he’s got a point, but one of the most important things I learned from all those Shakespearean plays is this: meddling is never the answer. I mean, yes it all works out in the end, but those are fucking comedies. I don’t know what my life is supposed to be, but a comedy - I think not. So I said, with all the sincerity and tenderness I could gather, “Stay the fuck out of it.”

James is not happy. It’s alright. He’ll get over it. Mostly likely in ten seconds.

“So what did you tell your blondie?”

I overestimated. He got over it in five.

The truth is, I haven’t told my blondie anything. I completely forgot. I said “I can cancel”, and then I forgot to cancel. I wonder if love is making me ignorant of other people’s feelings. Is love making me a worse person? That’s unfortunate, especially when all the love stories tell you “love makes you a better person”. No, I haven’t read many love stories. I just spent a lot of time with Victoire.

We talked about this again later that day, after Hermione settled down in 12 Grimmauld Place. She put up a fight about living with the Potters and me, but Harry wasn’t having any of it.

“A hotel is perfectly fine, Harry,” she argued.

“Nonsense. What do you take me for, the Dursleys?”

That did it.

So we were sitting around the kitchen table. Harry and Ginny have gone to bed. She’s in a black oversized T-shirt that has some faded slogan on the front of it and a pair of red soccer shorts. I don’t think either of those belongs to her. Her hair is down. Her collarbones are exposed, pale and fragile yet sharp. I wonder if I could cut my hands on them if I try. She’s reading some files. I guess they’re from Harry.

I asked without preamble, “Hermione?”

She didn’t look up. “Hmm?”

“Is love supposed to make you a better person?”

She did look up this time, “Not necessarily.”

“What does that mean?”

She returned her eyes to the files. “Well, there’re so many different kinds of love, aren't there?”

“You mean between parents and kids, lovers, siblings, friends and so on?”

“Nope. I mean there’re different kinds of love between even just lovers. Love changes depending on the people involved in it. You can love a person in a way, and then fall in love in an entirely different way with another person. You can’t categorise love. You can’t write a thesis about what love’s supposed or not supposed to do, because that’ll be utter gibberish. It’s different for different people.”

She said all that in a matter-of-fact way, as if we were just talking about potions or transfiguration theories instead of the most mysterious human emotion. She didn’t even look away from her files throughout the speech.

I asked, “But what’s the point of love if it can’t make you a better person?”

She smiled. “There’s no point in love whatsoever.”

I was taken aback. “That’s very cynical.”

She laughed, “Why else do you think I’m still single?” I guess there’s something in my expression that sobered her up. She said, “Of course I’m not depreciating love. It’s beautiful. And I think it’s the most beautiful when there’s no point in it.”

“In another word, don’t expect it to save you from whatever you’re running from.” I tried to raise one of my eyebrows. I’m not sure if I managed it.

She nodded, “Yes. We all have our own battles to fight. A lover is someone who fights next to you, not fighting it for you.”

“Or you just lie down with them and die, yet still feel satisfied.”

“And he called _me_ cynical.”

I laughed. My heart is unbelievably light in this moment despite the subject of our discussion. I looked at her. She’s gone back to reading files and making notes in a notebook. She has this concentration about her that is rarely seen. I imagine what it would be like if her concentration were on me. What if she looked at me with that intense look? When she talks to me or takes my hand or gets down on her knees and… What?

“You’re not going to bed?” She asked.

“I’m used to staying up late.”

“What are you staying up for, anyway?”

For you. I want to say. I’m staying up for you, because today is magical, and you’re such a secret box that I want to crack. “I’m contemplating life.”

She smiled. “Very Hamlet of you.”

“I want to say I’m flattered, but I don’t like him that much.”

“Why?”

“He’s passive.”

She’s still smiling. “Well, he managed a lot of investigation and revenge.”

I sighed and took a sip of my tea. It’s cold already. “I just have this feeling that he’s already getting used to cruel fate and suffering and losing. I don’t like it.”

“He’s hardly to blame for that.”

I shrugged. “I guess.”

“So who’s your favourite Shakespearean character?”

“Coriolanus.”

She stood up and stretched. “Really? Such pride. Fatal, even.”

“I like his stubbornness.”

She laughed a bit. “You like stubborn people?”

I was eyeing her stretched-out body. There’s not much to eye in that outfit, but I like seeing her move.

I like seeing her do anything, to be honest.

Not kissing somebody. That’s just cruel.

She turned to the fridge and started to rummage. “You know, I was described as stubborn quite a lot when I was young.”

My heart missed a beat. I’m not sure if she’s saying what I think she’s saying. “You’re not old now.”

“I’m not young either,” she said.

Is she implying something? Has she felt anything? Has she seen through me? Does she know, in this instant, that all I want to do is just to reach out and touch her?

I’d like to think that this is a crucial moment, that this is when I have to make a choice, but it’s too soon. She can’t possibly have any feelings towards me yet, and all my confession’s only gonna push her away. 

And then the moment passed. It happens a lot in my life, I surmised, while I told her that no, I don’t want a beer.

“So,” I began, while she took a gulp of beer and settled back down to her files, “Who’s your favourite? Hermione the virtuous queen in the Winter’s Tale?” I joked.

She made a face, “Oh hell no.”

“Why?”

“Did I strike you as that big of an egomaniac?” she winked.

I laughed.

“I don’t particularly like that play.” she said.

“It has a happy ending, doesn’t it?”

She’s amused. “Who told you that happy stories get more love?”

“Maybe they do. Maybe it’s just that you’re different.”

“You think I’m against happy endings?”

“Okay,” I backed down, “Tell me why you don’t like the Winter’s Tale.”

She paused. “It has such a… happy ending.”

“Ah ha!” I pointed a finger at her.

“No! No!” She waved wildly. My face hurt a little, which made me finally realize that I’d been grinning this whole time. “I don’t hate _all_ happy endings! I just hate this one!”

“You don’t think the queen deserves a happy ending after what she endured all those years?” I sipped my still-cold tea.

“She deserves a believable storyline more than a clumsy happy ending,” she said fiercely. “And all those people? The kings, the prince, the noblemen, the noblewomen, the lords… they all have happy endings and fall in love.That’s so unrealistic. It’s like a - a comedy! Is that what it’s supposed to be? A comedy? This woman lost her kids and love and reputation and freedom and suddenly everyone’s happy again?”

When she talked all I saw is that little girl with bushy hair in Harry’s photos. She’s radiant. I couldn’t even blink. Maybe if I blinked, I would've missed that flash in her eyes. It almost looked like tears. Just one moment, and then it’s gone. She turned her head to the windows. Silence ensued.

“So…” I’m treading dangerous waters. “I sense that there’s a story behind your literary preference.”

She didn’t answer for a while. I thought she never would. But then she said, lowly, “Do _you_ believe that love is supposed to make you better?”

“I did before today. Yes.”

She looked at me curiously, “What happened today?”

I looked right back. “You happened today.”

She smiled bitterly. “I didn’t think my little speech would have such an impact.”

I wanted to say, no. It’s not your speech. It’s you. It’s you sitting there, fresh and unperturbed and beautiful, that makes me question whether love has a definition. How’s it even possible that anyone else out there is feeling what I’m feeling right now? This overwhelming sweetness and longing and fear that’s devouring me? How can that be? This is different. This must be different. And then you made that speech, saying exactly what I’ve been thinking. How can this make me a better person? This is gonna be the end of me. My entire being could be yours if you ask. If I disappear in you because of my love, if I become this idiot who will walk through fire barefoot for you, how could I say that love is supposed to make me a better person?

Instead, I just picked up my teacup, my hand steady, and said, “You’re very persuasive.”

“No, I’m not,” she seems to be lost in thought, “I can never persuade people to do my bidding. When I was just a kid, I nagged or I did it for them. Then I grew up, I learned to threaten and to blackmail. Harry is the persuasive one.” She looked back at me, suddenly realising to whom she’d been talking. “Harry Potter can persuade me to do anything. He doesn’t even need to use the emotional approach. He’s that good.” She smiled, though I can’t help but think there’s a bitter undertone.

“Come on, he’s not that good,” I said, “He can never make Ginny do anything.”

Hermione snorted.

“I think,” I’m staring at the tabletop very hard, “I think he’s just persuasive to you. I think it’s because you let him.”

She took a deep breath.

“Why are you back, Hermione?” I asked.

“That’s not your concern.” she said.

I nodded. “Okay.” I have some theories, none of which has one piece of evidence. I can’t believe it’s just been one day. I feel that I’ve been sitting here and talking with her and looking at her for months straight.

She started to gather up her files. “I’m off to bed,” she said. “Good night.”

I didn’t move. “Good dreams."

She walked past me to the door. I didn’t think. I reached out. My fingertip touched her shoulder. She stopped but didn’t turn around. “Yes?” She murmured in a low voice.

I couldn’t think of anything to say. My fingertip felt raw and burned by her warmth. She waited for a few seconds more, and then she left.

I found something that night. It’s her hair clip. I took it to my bed. It’s smooth and fragile in my hand. I closed my eyes, pretending that it’s her collarbone.


	3. Is It Really Over Now?

It surprised me a bit that I never met her in this house again after that night. It shouldn’t, but it did. I know all the facts. She’s back for a reason. Since she’s back for Harry, then good chances are she’s back for some serious shit that’s going down in the background that we innocent citizens have no clues about. In that case, she must be busy, so it’s perfectly reasonable that she’s never at home for dinner, never home before everyone went to bed, and never home after everyone got up. If it weren’t for the soft footsteps I heard in the midnight from my room, I’d say that she never came back, ever.

Sometimes I sit on my floor beside my bedroom door and just wait. I can hear her. My hearing ability is quite impressive. Not like dogs or something. I can’t predict earthquakes. No. But I can hear her movements in this house. She’s opening the front door. She’s stepping into the house. She’s closing the door. Silence. What’s she doing? I imagine her leaning on the wall and staring blankly, exhausted from all her work. Whatever that is. I want to go down there and comfort her, maybe get her a cup of tea, but something’s holding me back. I can still feel her on my fingertips. I can feel her whenever I close my eyes. Was I overstepping? Would I be overstepping again? She’s obviously busy. Is this really the best moment to make my move?

Timing is a mystery. 

Ah, she’s coming upstairs. She moves slowly, almost contemplatively. I rest my head on the wall and watch clouds flowing past the moon outside my window. She walked past my door. No, that’s not quite right. She walked to my door, paused, and continued down the corridor. Yes, that’s better. Somehow this moment, this pause, is more intimate than anything else I’ve ever shared with her.

I can’t stop thinking about the fact that our rooms are on the same floor. If I tear down all these walls between us, would this become a little easier?

I’m still the king of calmness, though it’s not like there’s anyone here to witness this incredible achievement. James and Albus and Lily are all back at school. Harry’s too busy. Ginny’s too occupied with her magazine career and strengthening her bond with Harry, as if three kids are not enough. She visits him almost everyday. At least that’s the impression I get since whenever I go to the Auror Office to chat with Harry for a bit she’s always there. 

She’s here today. He’s happy about that, I can tell.

I chuckled. Harry gives me a confused look.

“Nothing.” I said, “Just thought of someone and their problem with happy endings.”

“Who’d have problems with happy endings?” Ginny asked absently.

“Realists?” Harry suggested.

“Sounds bitter to me,” Ginny teased him.

I can’t help but get defensive. “Well you got your happy ending years ago, but not everyone has your luck.”

Ginny snorted. “People don’t need luck to find their happy endings. They need to fight for it like hell.”

I stood up and turned to leave. “I think I know one person or two who fought as hard as you that never got their happy endings. Like my parents.” I raised a hand as a goodbye. “See you later, Harry.”

I walked to the Minister’s Office. Time for the weekly briefing from all departments. Our Department Head recently developed an illness that made him unfit for this routine. The symptom includes cursing verbally, hexing, and attacking physically, all towards the Minister. Not good at all. No one knows what happened. Might be related to the rumour that his daughter loves politics, but loves politicians more. I don’t even want to know. You’d think after so many years leading the Department of International Magic Cooperation, he could be more… diplomatic about it.

Am I angry? Nah. I admit that I could’ve backed off for a bit in Harry’s office, but for a split second I decided not to.

Maybe that’s because deep in my heart I know that someday I need to stand up to them for a more serious matter. Hermione. I don’t know the origin of my confidence. I just know that there’s something there even when she has given me zero reason to believe it. How arrogant is that? I’m preparing to fight for her before anyone mentions a duel. Before the reason for a duel happens, really. At this point, I don’t know what’s making me more excited - the possibility of her becoming something more than a friend to me, or the prospect of wreaking havoc?

I don’t want myself to sound like a cheesy romantic novel, but the wolf in me is pacing.

Oh my fucking Merlin’s in-laws, scratch that. That’s worse than I expected.

“And the DIMC? Any issues you want to address this week, Mr. Lupin?” The Undersecretary asked.

“Not really,” I responded. Since the instruction for me is simply “kill him off Teddy when you get the chance”, I guess there’s nothing especially important happened. “The Norwegian Diplomatic Department still refuses to have a nice and long talk about the dragon blood import clause, despite our efforts. We’re prepared to explore other options from Russia or Finland. The proposal will be submitted to the Minister within one week.”

“Very well. Have a nice weekend, gentlemen.” The Minister dismissed us.

Ms. Lou from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes seems extremely displeased, but she didn’t say anything until we’re all outside the Minister’s Office.

“He wouldn’t forget the ‘Ladies’ there if I’m representing the DMLE,” she said acidly.

“You, darling?” Oliver Wood laughed, “You won’t survive DMLE for one week, believe me.”

“You’re saying a woman wouldn’t qualify for law enforcement?” Her voice got a little shrill.

“Of course not!” he said, “But you have to be extra intelligent and ruthless to be there. I’ve only known one or two witches who can do it without years of struggle.”

“Oh, like who?”

“Hermione Granger, for one,” he said. I adjusted my steps to fall behind them discreetly. “That girl could’ve become the Minister if only she stayed.”

“The Golden Girl, huh? I heard she’s back?” Ms. Lou asked, the wisp of hostility gone.

“Yep. I wonder why, though. I hope she’ll come work in the Ministry. It’ll be nice to have someone with that sharp a mind as a colleague.”

“Even if she’s back she won’t be working in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, Wood.”

“Hard to say. She’s always got an eye for Quidditch players.”

Interesting.

“Why did she leave anyway? She had a future here, didn’t she? War heroine and all that.”

He shrugged. “Do I look like a gossip expert?”

She laughed. “I bet you’d know all about it if she played Quidditch.”

He turned back suddenly, “Ain’t Hermione living in your place, Teddy?”

“Harry’s house, yes.” I nodded absently as if I wasn’t listening in their conversation just moments ago.

“Tell her Oliver Wood said hi, alright? And if she wants to try her out-of-the-world organisational skill in my department, I’ll be so grateful.”

I highly doubt Hermione will be willing to become a secretary, but I said okay anyway.

It’s not like I know what she’s planning to do.

Or rather, what she’s been doing.

It must be over a month before I saw her again. It was two o’clock in the morning. I was planning to get a drink from kitchen because I couldn’t sleep, and imagining her smile doesn’t help. Reading the dullest report doesn’t help. Jerking off doesn’t help, either. I was on the top of stairs when I heard someone talking quietly in the kitchen.

“You can’t expect me to let you do this alone,” Harry said.

“It’s no big deal, Harry.” That’s Hermione.

“How is that not a big deal? It’s dangerous.”

“You say that like it means anything.”

“What, dangerous? Of course it means something, Hermione. I don’t want to lose you again. Ron doesn’t want to lose you again. He’s with me on this, you know.”

“Of course he’s with you. He’s always with you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“No. I’m sorry. Ignore me. I’m just so tired.”

“Take an assistant. Take an Auror with you. That’s all I’m asking.”

“I don’t want to, Harry. I have to build trust with them and that’s just so damn much work.”

“Why can’t you just trust them first until they give you a reason not to?”

“Because trust-worthy people are so rare, Harry.”

“I trust my men.”

“Oh, Harry,” she sounds incredibly sad, “I’m sure your men are loyal to you.”

Silence.

“Are you saying the loyalty to me doesn’t necessarily equal to the loyalty to you?”

“Are you angry?”

“No.” He paused for a bit. “No. I think I understand.”

“It was good, wasn’t it? Our old days in school.”

“Yeah.” There’s smile in his voice. “So dark and dangerous, but you two were always there.”

“We’re never going back, Harry. You know the moment my blind loyalty to you ended.”

“I know.”

I walked down the stairs softly and sat down on the last step. There’s flickering light filtered out under the kitchen door. I imagined them, two best friends, sitting on the opposite sides of a table, years and years between them like a river.

“So you know after that every time I stand with you, I make that choice consciously all over again?”

“Oh.”

“I’m with you, Harry. I made that choice before I came back. I make that choice everyday here. I’m not doing this for old time’s sake. I’m doing this because I choose to. You can trust me.”

“I know.”

“I wish she knew that, too, years ago.”

“Hermione - ”

“I know. I know. Merlin almighty I’m not starting that again.”

“You just started it.”

“I’m sorry. Okay? Just forget it.”

“I never asked you to leave! She never asked you to leave! You left me when it was so bloody hard to cope so you don’t get to come here and accuse the person who got me through the funerals and heartbreaks!”

For a long while she didn’t say anything.

And then I heard her sigh.

“I don’t want an Auror with me because I’m an independent consultant. I will be making my own decisions, which you may or may not agree with. I’d rather not kill my assistant every time that happens just so he wouldn’t be able to tell you.”

“I would never spy on you - ”

“Oh you would, Harry, you definitely would. Twenty years ago you wouldn’t, but we’re here and this is now. If you don’t spy on me, you are not a competent Head Auror. I’m just sorry that I can’t make it easy on you. I really do.” The scratching sound of a chair against the floorboard. “I will find an assistant from independent resources, though. I’ll give you that.” A kiss on the cheek. “Good night. Love you.”

“Love you.”

I didn’t move. I had plenty of time to creep back up the stairs and into my room, but I didn’t move. I was still processing all the things I’ve heard. So many questions without answers. So many questions that I’m not sure I want answers for.

She didn’t see me until she’s directly in front of me. She didn’t jump or yelp. She just paused for a bit, and proceeded to walk past me.

My left hand circled her left ankle at the last moment.

She didn’t say anything.

“Do you need an assistant?”

“Yes.”

“May I apply?”

“Teddy - ”

“May I?” I asked again, for the first time looked up to her face. She looked calm, composed, and determined.

“No.” Not one ounce of apology behind the word. This woman can be admirably hard and cold when she wants to.

Thankfully I can feel her pulse, which might be the only thing that’s keeping me sane. Her quickening, mad, erratic pulse. In my palm. Like a dying butterfly struggling for life.

My sign. My revelation. My reason for a war.


	4. But That Isn't You

It turns out that Hermione determined to better her promise, so she got two assistants instead of one. I don’t like either of them. Luke Nott is just out of Hogwarts. He’s smart. He’s rich. He’s an arrogant little shit. According to the simpering witches outside of the book shop, he’s handsome, too.

“Just ignore them,” he said. “I’ve gotten used to it but it can’t be comfortable for you, right?”

My teeth are suffering so much from my endurance.

“You’re such a Lockhart.” Hermione shook her head. She’s only half concentrating, though. Most of her attention is on the books written in languages I don’t know.

You have to pay the price if you want to tag along with the woman you love and her Adonis of a personal assistant.

“What’s a Lockhart?” Nott’s confusion seems authentic.

“Oh Merlin, I always feel old when young people don’t get my references” she complained.

“You being you, they probably don’t know your references due to ignorance instead of age gap.”

I gritted my teeth so hard I could break them.

“Compliments will get you nowhere, Nott.” She rolled her eyes.

“I say what I mean. I’m an honest person, Ms Granger.” He stressed her name unnecessarily.

“If you’re waiting for me to say ‘just call me Hermione’, don’t get your hopes up. Keep calling me Ms Granger without the attitude, boy.”

“I’m not a boy anymore! I’m a man! You need proof?” Nott sounds offended.

“A man doesn’t offer proof, boy, ” she said. “You make me feel like Alastor Moody, and that’s really not a good feeling, if you know what I mean, but you don’t.” She pointed at him with an admonishing finger, “if you ask who’s Alastor Moody, I’m gonna scream.”

He just winked at her. I don’t think he knows who Moody is.

I don’t even know if they’re flirting or not. I’m becoming dumb in this department all because of her.

“Where’s your other slave?” I asked, stepping between Nott and her as casually as I can.

“I thought I have them both here?” She smiled mischievously at me.

“Silver guy is on a mission that my mistress refused to tell me,” Nott said, making doe eyes. “The blatant lack of trust is hurtful.”

“I didn’t make an Unbreakable Vow with you. That’s enough trust,” Hermione said. “You’re welcome to resign, get obliviated, and leave at any time.”

“You agreed to an obliviation clause in your contract?” Now I’m a little impressed by this young boy.

“Relax. I’m not gonna need it,” he said. “I’m never resigning. I’m helping Ms Granger accomplish her grand research, get my name in every publication and be famous.”

I feel old next to him. Human beings are not supposed to be this optimistic. It’s almost hilarious.

I need to talk to Hermione about this.

“You haven’t proved your competence,” she said. “I might not add your name to it.”

“Hey!” He protested, one hand to his heart in a dramatic pose.

“Cut the crap. I’m too old for this.” She turned to the stairs to the second floor.

Nott was beside me. We shared a moment of silence. I was thinking. He’s probably appreciating Hermione’s backside.

“Mind your claws, Nott,” I warned. “She’s got people who can crush you.”

He turned his eyes on me, dark orbs shining. “Oh, she can crush me all by herself.”

 “What are you researching?”

He shrugged. “Confidential, though I thought she would share it with you, ” he smirked. “Aren’t you the godson of our legendary Auror Harry Potter? Don’t tell me you’re not in the loop?”

“That’s not even a question,” I deadpanned.

He snorted. “You’re not my senior. You’re not even that much older than me. We have the same chance, pal.”

“The same chance of what?”

He made a gesture to upstairs and stepped away, laughing.

Merlin, if James grows up to be this shitty and annoying, I’ll personally send him to a muggle boarding school to learn manners.

But first, I need to talk to Hermione.

It’s not easy to get her alone in a book shop, but I managed in the end. The Academic-Star-To-Be stepped out to have a cigarette. I caught Hermione in an obscure corner where all I can see is books about plants. We’re safe as long as Professor Longbottom doesn’t show up.

“He’s dangerous, you know.”

She didn’t turn around. She’s still checking up the shelves. “Yeah, as dangerous as a baby dragon.”

“Why would you think baby dragons are less - never mind.” I stepped closer to her. “I know you’re doing something dangerous. You need someone you can count on, not a naive school boy.”

Her voice is cold. “Don’t tell me what I need, Teddy.”

I don’t know where my fury comes from. This is the first time I’ve seen her since our encounter on the staircase one month ago. She smiled. She joked. She’s totally normal, which is infuriating. How can she be this in control? How can I not?

“I know exactly what you need,” I said.

She turned around this time. We’re so close. I can see my reflection in her eyes.

“Then you’d be wrong,” she said.

Closer.

“Why deny this?” I asked. “Why deny me? You can’t just pause your life for work. Things happen when they’re supposed to happen.”

“Maybe they’re not supposed to happen now,” she whispered.

Closer.

“I don’t follow.”

“That’s my intention.”

Closer.

“May I kiss you?”

When she answered, I can literally feel her lips move and disturb the air between us.

“No.”

I was shaking out of frustration when I left the book shop. Nott was still smoking. He raised his hand with the cigarette to me as a goodbye, a smirk on his lips.

I want to shout. I want to cry. I want to punch someone or run for ten miles or get a girl in a pub and fuck her brains out. For a moment back there I thought about kissing her anyway, but it wouldn’t be right, and I want this to be right.

I’ve got so much pent-up emotion that when I bumped into Draco Malfoy outside of my office, I snapped. “Watch it!”

The senior assistant of Hermione Granger looked me in the eye and responded in that old Malfoy way we wizards and witches know so well. “I see you still have Potter’s manners.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Seeing him doesn’t help with my mood at all.

He just tilted his head, regarded me for a moment, and left.

I watched him leave. His black coat disappeared around the corner. Draco Malfoy is over-qualified to be Hermione’s assistant and run her errands, though I have no idea what he does for real. He’s got his family fortune, so he doesn’t need a job. He has been seen here and there, attending galas, making investments, or serving Wizengamot duties, which might be the closest to a job he had.

So it’s both unexpected and suspicious that he agreed to be an assistant for Hermione. I still remember it being talked about it on dinner table even when Hermione’s not there.

“Always an over-achiever, taking two Slytherins” Ginny would say.

“Two high-maintainance Slytherins, no less” Ron would shrug. He always seems like he doesn’t care much about everything and just goes along with his life. He’s not fooling me.

Harry’s just worried. He knows what’s going on, but he chooses not to explain.

As for me? I’m ready to jump out of my skin. The full moon’s coming. I won’t change, but I can still feel it looming. It’s a strange feeling. You feel the moon wherever you are, no matter what you’re doing. There’s no pain involved, but a lot of restlessness. After all these years, I still let it bother me. I think I can shut it out if I really put my mind to it, but the truth is, I don’t want to. I allow myself to embrace the awareness just like my father all those years ago. Well, not just like. I’m sure his experience was far worse. Still, it’s a connection. It reminds me every month that my father existed once, and a part of him is in me now. 

Sometimes all I want is to talk to him. Imagining it is hard, because I don’t even know him. I have no idea what his response would be.

What do I do, dad? What do I do when she just keeps saying no over and over again?

I want to tell her that it’s not right to do that to people you love. (I’m presuming here. Indulge me.) You don’t refuse. You don’t say no. Because one day, some day, they might stop asking.

I want to tell her that I will stop asking if she keeps this on, but deep down I know that’s not true. Deep down I know that I’m just like my mother. I’ll keep asking exactly the same way young Nymphadora Tonks did over twenty years ago.

But that doesn’t mean I have to stop my life until she says yes.

So I’m back in the Leaky Cauldron now. The alley at the back of the bar, really. The young brunette, whose name I forgot the moment I learned of it, knelt in front of me and took my cock into her mouth. I leaned back on the filthy wall, closed my eyes, and willed my mind to focus on the waves of pleasure instead of other things, such as Hermione’s lips when she said no, her eyes with the ghosting of tears, her ankle in my hand - I imagined kissing her calf, and up, and up, and she sighed and melted under my lips, head tilted back, hands moving in my hair, and I just kissed all the way up to her warm and wet core -

I came without a sound.

And then it started to rain. It’s weirdly romantic.

“Oh fuck.” The brunette said, hastily spit and stood up. “I hate rain. Too damn much in Scotland. I wish I could move to Australia.”

I kissed her to shut her up, tasting myself on her tongue. I hate both myself and her a little that moment. Maybe even Hermione, too. I can feel her hands moving, raindrops on my eyelashes, greasy wall under my palm -

And then the back door opened, laughter pouring out in waves, and someone stepped out. I barely paid any attention, forcing myself to kiss all my feelings away until all that’s left to fuck this woman is a shell, but something’s not right with the silence that followed.

I ended the kiss and turned my head. There she is. Hermione Granger. She’s in a long black coat and grey scarf. Her hair was pulled into a messy chignon, exposing her ever elegant and slender neck. She just stood there, one hand in the pocket, another holding an unlit cigarette, eyes on me with an unreadable look.

We looked at each other silently for a moment that stretched for so long that the girl who’s being pinned under me felt that something’s going on. She opened her eyes and turned to where I was staring at.

“Hey! Do you mind?”

I stepped back instinctively and moved to Hermione, but she shook her head imperceptibly, turned, and walked right back into the bar. The door opened and closed again. Sounds of people rushed out like a portal to another universe. The last thing I saw under the light from inside is her fingers holding the frame of the door.

I didn’t go after her. I stayed. I took the brunette to a muggle hotel and fucked the night away. I didn’t want to talk to Hermione. I didn’t want to explain anything. I felt like shit. I didn’t even want to see her that night, not even a little bit.

The coat and scarf she wore- I’ve seen them on a different person. Today,  outside my office. He commented on my manners.


	5. Time Takes A Cigarette

Luke Nott obviously overestimates his influence on her. It might be her fault for indulging him, but Hermione is not ready to admit it. Age gives her experience, self assurance, and patience, but she still detests admitting being wrong.

So, Luke Nott has a larger ego than she expected. Big deal. All her life she’s been working with men with egos the size of the Pacific Ocean. It’s depressing how many of them are out there.

Currently, the young and handsome egomaniac is going through her notes on their research. Behind her back, no less.

“Mr. Nott.” She finally made a sound after watching him for five minutes.

He jumped ten feet from the floor. To his credit, he’s not flustered at all. “Ms. Granger! I didn’t hear you.”

“Obviously.” She nodded to her desk with her notebook open.

His demeanor changed. It’s amazing how some people can do that. He went from this innocent and curious apprentice to a predator in the blink of an eye. Hermione blinked again just to be sure.

“Now, now. Hermione.” He stepped closer to her slowly, elegantly. She stood her ground. “You know it’s no way to treat an academic partner by shutting him out.”

She smiled. “You should know your status is considerably lower than that of a partner.”

He’s still moving closer, eyes flashing dangerously. “Oh really? But Malfoy is?”

“Neither of you has the capability.”

It’s terribly arrogant of her to say that. Doesn’t mean it’s not true. Hermione would have been mortified if this came out of her mouth twenty years ago, but now it’s a different story. She knows what she’s capable of and she’s not afraid to set the rules and draw the boundaries anymore.

Apparently arrogance turns Nott on, or whatever twisted mechanism he’s operating by. He flashed a bright smile to her, canines white and perfect, making the smile a little wolfish. His breath is by her ear since Hermione refused to back off during the whole power play. “I so like a woman with confidence.”

She put a hand on his chest to prevent him from moving any closer. “They are the most difficult kind to manipulate.”

He laughed a little. She can feel the low vibration under her palm. “But the best kind to win over.”

She’s almost excited at that moment. It’s been a while since someone seriously flirted with her. The fact that there’s no real feelings attached to this makes it even better. She thought of another man in a back alley, almost a silhouette, devouring another woman with so much concentration and sadness. She didn’t need to ask. He didn’t need to say anything. She understood him almost immediately without any verbal exchange. She knows what he needs, but she can’t help him.

Not now.

Her palm is still pressed against his hard chest. She pushed him away slowly, looking him in the eye. “Get out of my office.”

He let her push him, smile still on his lips. “Why are you so eager to make me leave, Hermione? What are you afraid of?”

“I’m afraid the amount of audacity in this room is over the Ministry suggested standard.”

He laughed, dodging the accusation, and closed his hand around her wrist. “Let me in.”

“Back off, then.”

“I can help you with this. I have the expert resources. I have my family library. We can make groundbreaking discoveries! Together. Hermione,” he said eagerly, eyes shining, “We can do this together.”

She sighed. “This is exactly what I’m trying to avoid.”

A little confusion and amusement. “You’re avoiding success?”

“No, I’m avoiding you getting overzealous and fucking it up.”

“Passion is what makes things come true!”

She touched her finger to his temple. “Intelligence is what makes things come true. Hands off and butt out, Mr. Nott.”

He pouted and made puppy dog eyes.

“Not working,” she said.

“I can’t believe you.” He shook his head. “You know this is big! I need this more than that Malfoy prick!”

“I thought he’s your father’s friend?” She asked.

“Doesn’t make him my friend,” he said sullenly.

“That’s neither here or there.” She moved around her desk and started to reorganize her files. “He has his role, and you have yours. Stay in it.”

“Oh yeah? What’s his role then? Your fuck buddy?” He said acidly.

She paused. “I beg your pardon?”

He turned to her, eyes burning. “How long have you two been sleeping together? Do you seriously think you could get away with it? We have the same titles but you’re playing favoritism!”

“You’re out of line, Nott,” she said calmly. “You’re dismissed for the day.”

He stood there in utter disbelief, and abruptly, he left the room in a few strides.

She stretched her back and sighed. Brilliant.

* * *

She’s lying in Draco Malfoy's bed, smoking.

“I must repeat that I resent being used like this and you smoking in my bedroom without taking your clothes off.” His eyes are as hard as can be.

She just toed her boots off without replying.

“I hope that’s just a start.”

“Who knows.” She inhales deeply, frowning.

“Hey.” He turns to her. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m thinking.”

“Surprise, surprise.”

She didn’t say anything until the cigarette’s gone. Draco was almost asleep when she said, “What if we really manage it?”

“Manage what?”

“You know what.”

“I know this, and I know that, and I think I know something not wholly relevant but still interesting, but I have no idea which one you’re referring to.”

“Well I said ‘what if’ and I said ‘we’, didn’t I?”

“Huh.”

“So. Your thoughts?”

“I must say I’ve never believed that we could really do it.”

“I might be close.”

He propped himself up with his elbow. “Seriously?”

She hummed.

“Wow.” He plumped back down. “Do you realize what that means?”

“Chaos,” she said. “Death. Distrust. Mental disorders. Ethical dilemmas.”

“Good. I see you haven’t lost your logical mind.”

“I’m not going to do anything. I’m just thinking about it.”

“Thinking about doing something?”

“Twenty years ago? Definitely. Now?” She tapped another cigarette out. “I have too much to lose now.”

“Really? I thought you have less to lose now.”

She slapped his chest without looking at him. “That’s low.”

Her hand stayed there. Warmth sinks into her skin slowly. Her cigarette stays unlit.

“Granger?”

“What?”

“Wanna fuck?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.”

It feels good to be here. In Draco’s bed. She never expected herself to feel this way, but life works in mysterious ways, or God, or whatever or whoever up there. She stared at the ceiling, brain turning and turning. This is ending soon, but it has a high chance of ending ugly. She’s the only one who knows the chilling truth and possible consequences. She can take it. She’s not so sure about Harry. It’s comforting to know that she has an ally who’s just as cold and heartless as she,, then, whose bed she’s currently lying in.

Except that he’s not cold or heartless. At all.

She’s still the only one who can do unthinkably cruel things with her bare hands.

And it’s exceptionally lonely.

She climbed out of the bed. “Do you think they’ve left?”

He didn’t move. “I bet they’re still there. You might have to use the floo.”

She looked out through the crack between curtains. Yes, they’re still there. Lurking in the shadows with alarming patience and professional skepticism. For a moment she feels like she’s the prey instead of the hunter. Strange feeling, that. Hasn’t popped up for decades.

“Or you could stay.” His voice is sombre.

She thought she’s already past the age of apologizing for her actions, but apparently not. Apparently people just can’t stop hurting people no matter how much experience they’ve had. Even if you know better, you can’t prevent it from happening. Every decision has its repercussions. If you’re afraid of hurting people, you may as well do nothing.

But she’s never good at standing idly by while letting others get their hands dirty.

“Draco. We talked about - ”

“Yeah.” He turned aloof in one second. “I don’t know why I bothered.”

She walked towards him. “You bothered because you care.”

He remained silent, watching her move around the bed and sit down besides him.

Her fingers held his hands tightly, as if trying to force him to admit something terrible. Something horrifying. Something that can tear him apart or make him complete, all depending on one answer.

It’s not happening today.

“You ready to go?” He asked her.

She sighed, her eyes boring into him with traces of sadness and understanding. “You stay. I’ll be using your library.”

He saluted carelessly behind her back.

* * *

She stood in front of the fireplace in Harry’s house. It has been Harry’s house for years now. She rarely thought of Sirius during the war. A war has the power to suck you into it, leaving you little energy to dwell on the past. And then she left, relocated, started all over again. She kept writing letters to her friends, asking for forgiveness. She got a job and then a better one and then another. She fell in love and fell out of love and went through all five stages of grief. She discovered so much about herself and the world that the war is not the biggest part in her life anymore. It lost the power to control her perspective. She moved on from it, gaining the strength to look back whenever she wants. She thought of Sirius when she was reading a novel and a woman in it said, “The tragedy of life, Howard, is not that the beautiful die young, but that they grow old and mean.”

It was a beautiful afternoon. Sunlight cut through her window and drew everything in her apartment in shadows on her floor. She suddenly let go of a piece of herself that’s been stuck in that night at the end of her Fifth Year. A piece of that girl (barely a woman, really) who’s so afraid and confused, mostly confused. Life bowed to her, smiled maliciously, and pulled open the veil to reality.

Why did he die?

What sense does that make?

What’s the meaning of it?

If not everything is logical, how am I supposed to protect others? Or myself?

How am I supposed to win if this world doesn’t play by rules?

She forgot her doubt in the run, in the adrenaline, in the torture and fight and killing. And years later, oceans away, she held a book that answered her through the dust of time and space. Unintentionally, of course. And she thought of Sirius Black. That’s the day Hermione Granger lost her fear of death.

“I’m sorry.” She touched the photo sitting on the mantle piece, in which the old Order is laughing and waving and living. “Now I’m back.”

“Do you regret it?”

She turned around. Harry is leaning on the opposite wall, a glass of water in his hand, ankles crossed.

“No.” She didn’t hesitate.

Harry gave her a very, very slow smile. “That’s the Hermione I’ve been missing.”

She snorted. “Admit it. You hate me.”

He nodded. “I hate you. I love you. I miss you. Who says I can’t do them at the same time?”

She would really love to know what those feelings would be afterwards. It would be so convenient if she could play human minds like Arithmancy formulas, working out what would happen if she made different choices at the next crossroad. If she could do that, if she did, would the “I hate you and I love you and I miss you and I hate you most of all” today become “I love you and don’t leave me and don’t ever leave me again”?

She just leaned on the wall next to him and handed him a Galleon coin. “I love you, too.”

He eyed the coin curiously, and then recognition settled in. “Is that…?”

“Yep,” she said in false cheerfulness. “Everything’s gonna work out."


	6. Chances Are You Think That I'm in Love with You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually getting worse at this. Evidenced by my beta's changing tracks. (who's an angel)

Having an Auror Godfather means that sooner or later you pick up something useful from him. Keeping an eye on your environment, for one. That’s how good Malfoy is. I only manage to realise that he’s been following me this moment.

You got the woman. What do you want now?

It’s not difficult after that. I’m a total amateur at reverse-tracking, but hey, I can change my appearance however I want. Viva la Magic.

That’s how I see two men following Malfoy discretely into a back alley shortcut from the Quidditch supply shop to the Ministry. It’s almost hilarious that he’s being followed while following me. Makes you contemplate the universe and how none of us is the focus of it.

I step into the alley. One of the men nods to the other, who takes a quill out from his pocket. A Portkey. Malfoy is still walking without looking back, humming a toneless song.

When I think back on it, I could’ve done differently. I could’ve just stunned them and taken them to the Aurors. I could have shouted something to give Malfoy a heads up. Or I could've stayed out of it and done nothing. Those might have been the wiser choices, but according to my childhood bedtime stories and rumours in Hogwarts, no one directly or indirectly related to Harry Potter would choose the wise path.

I reach out and touch the man when he grabs Malfoy and activates the Portkey.

I land somewhere dingy, biting back a shout when the back of my head makes contact with a hard surface. I throw a Stunner to the person closest to me, even though my eyes can’t really differentiate who that is. No matter. I’ll just Rennervate him if it’s Malfoy, which will surely give me immense satisfaction.

Alas, it’s not him, for I hear him shout “Stupefy!” not far from me, and then the tip of a wand appears in my line of vision. I drop my Metamorphmagus disguise in lightning speed. The joke’ll be on me if he knocks me out thinking I’m another kidnapper.

His eyes are wild and furious with burning ice deep down when he grits out, “What the bloody fuck are you doing here, Lupin?”

“I’m expecting something warmer than that? A thank you, maybe?”

He gives me a maniacal and short laugh. “What the fuck would I be thanking you for?”

I gesture to the man I stunned.

He snarls. He literally snarls. “If you think I need help with these two dunderheads, you’re even stupider than I imagined ten years ago.”

“Were you really walking around imagining how stupid a teenager was ten years ago? Wow, Malfoy. I know you haven’t accomplished much in your life, but that’s a new way of - ”

He walks away from me with admirable restraint on his temper. Huh.

I stand up. “Where are we then? If you’re so in control? What have you done to win a kidnap? Is it about money or someone you offended during the past 40 years?”

He doesn’t even look at me. Instead, he takes out a Muggle mobile phone and dials. It’s so weird to see a mobile in his hands that all I can do is stare. It’s until I hear a voice I’d know anywhere that I realise the thing actually works and it's not just some prop to ignore me.

And it’s Hermione. “Draco?”

“It’s starting.”

“I’ll get down there. Come when you can.”

“And Lupin’s here.”

There’s a beat of silence. And then, “How the fuck, Draco?”

I step closer to the phone, “What are you trying to do?”

She sounds agitated. “This doesn’t concern you. At all. Get out of there and go home.”

I grit my teeth. “Don’t you dare talk to me like a child.”

“Then don’t behave like one. Get out of the way.”

That’s a slap to my face. I almost stagger. “Am I an obstacle to you?”

She sighs. “At the least, you’re not helping.”

“Then let me,” I say. “I can help.”

Malfoy gives me a look with strange mixture of malice and pity. “I need him to help me check this place. He should know what’s going on.”

There’s a violent sound on the other end of the phone. Sounds like she kicked something. “Whatever. I’m going now.”

She hangs up.

“A tough woman to love, isn’t she?” Malfoy asks almost pleasantly.

I look at him blankly. “You would know about that better than me.”

He snorts. “Oh please.”

We searched the whole room and the house it belongs to. It turned out that we were brought to a deserted house in the countryside. No traces that can show whether or not someone had lived in it. The two kidnappers are bound to each other, with another stunner to be safe. While we walked from one room to another, searching through the drawers and closets, I was told that there's a radical group of people who identify with past Death Eaters and are trying to bring a war, or at least, some terrorist activities, back.

“Potter is working on getting some intel about this group. That’s what Granger and I have been doing.”

“What terrorists? I don’t recall any news about them, ” I ask, nudging a wooden chair to the side so that I can properly see what’s under the ugly desk.

He sneers. “Nothing happening in the Daily Prophet doesn’t mean that nothing’s happening elsewhere. I expect more from you since you working in the Bloody DIMC.”

I want to point out that my job mainly covers business and economics instead of international crime, but it feels unimportant whether or not I defend myself to Draco Malfoy.

“So the two idiots downstairs are in this group?”

He hums. “We imagine so.”

“We?”

His grey eyes are almost gentle when turned to me. “You don’t think Granger hasn’t anticipated this, do you?”

Of course.

Of course she’s been anticipating this. They are working with Harry, it’s to be expected that one or both of them would get their attention someday. I don’t have the Hermione Granger Blind Worship Syndrome that most of her generation have, but I bet she has a whole plan in case this happens.

Malfoy lets out a longsuffering sigh before he says, “Let’s go. There’s nothing here.”

I turn to him. “Are you two together?”

His face is iron, ice, and stone. His eyes, however, flick through so many emotions that I can’t possibly catch up. “No.”

“I saw her in your coat.”

He smirks. “And she’s been in my bedroom, more specifically, on my bed, countless times.” He puts a hand on my shoulder, which is when I realise that I have stepped closer to him and my nails have cut into my palm. “And we were never together. Not for lack of trying on my side, though.”

I force myself to relax. “Why, then?”

He sneers. “To throw off suspicion from someone else. If they want to have leverage, it’s crucial that they only have the ones we feed to them.”

For months she’s been telling me no. No. Sorry, but no. Stay away from me. Still no. I won’t lie to say that I don’t feel anything, but no. It’s for your own good.

She’s been protecting me from any possibility of getting into the line of fire, yet here I am, in the crosshairs. “I guess I ruined her plan.”

He gives me a look that says no, you know nothing. “You’re not capable of ruining her plan.”

I should be angry. I am angry. Not from being scorned, but something else. Something hard to explain. I’m burning inside. “She’s always in control.”

Malfoy laughs a bitter laugh. “She’s been in control since she’s a teenager. That talent doesn’t fade with age.”

I’ve been listening to her stories since I was a kid. Aunt Hermione. An extraordinary witch. Smart and loyal and always getting the shit done. Saving the world since 1991. Later, she established herself as an academic and an inventor far, far away from us. Now, she’s the woman who took my heart, measured its size, ran an analysis to see whether it would reach maximum welfare for all parties involved if she did anything to it, and then decided that it’s too much risk and locked it aside.

I’m sure she gave it a thorough and deep think. She even might shed some tears. I don’t feel better thinking about that.

“How do you feel about being used by her?” I ask, not without a little bit of sick pleasure.

He lowers his voice to an intimidating level. “Don’t for a second, kid, think that you have the upper hand. I’ve know what’s she’s gonna do from the very start. As a matter of fact, this is our plan.”

“Why doesn’t that even surprise me?” I’m diverting my anger towards him and it’s unfair and I don’t care one bit about it.

He walks away from me. “You have so much to learn.”

I sure do.

“What do we do to the kidnapper couple?” I ask.

“I couldn’t care less.” Malfoy says. With his hand on my shoulder, he apparates us directly in front of the Ministry.

“What’s happening here?”

He’s already moving swiftly to the main gate. “Mouse trap.”

I’m surprised that he knows what that is.

We walk instead of run into the elevator. No attentions drawn. We run into the Department of Mysteries though, since no one is down here right now. The Death Room looks just like what I imagined during those bedtime story sessions. Not really child-friendly, I know, but Harry wasn’t very good at bringing up kids back then.

What’s distinctly different are the people. One lying on the ground near the arch with the veil fluttering, one lying near the lowest bench and another standing nearby. Malfoy mutters an expletive and starts to run towards them. I follow, and on my way down, I recognise Hermione standing there, hair a mess, blouse dirty, and blood on her face.

“Did you kill them?” I blurt out before my brain catches up.

She turns her eyes to Malfoy. “What the fuck have you been telling him? Are you portraying me as the big bad witch in a kid’s nightmare?”

He rolls the body near her face up and I recognise Luke Nott with a startle. “Isn’t that your assistant?”

Malfoy makes a gesture to show that Nott is alive, albeit unconscious. “He’s our in.”

“If he talks and cooperates,” Hermione says.

“He duels fine, it seems.” Malfoy eyes her less than put together appearance.

“Hey. Give me a break. I’m not an Auror.” She rolls her eyes.

“Talking of Aurors, where the fuck is Potter? Isn’t he supposed to be doing all the duelling?” He asks with gritted teeth.

“He’s got stuck in Scotland. It appears that the little killer group has the brain to arrange a distraction while their spy got his hands dirty. He’s coming any minute. I just coin-called him.”

I’m standing there like an idiot. “Wait. Is Nott from that terrorist group and spying on you? I thought -“

“You thought he’s interested in me?” She laughs. “Oh please. I’ve never gotten as much attention as I’ve been receiving these days. I don’t kid myself into thinking that I've suddenly become so attractive almost entering my 40s. He’s not interested in me at all, but he’s willing to use his charisma to get what he wants.”

Do you also not believe me, I wonder? Do you also toss away my attraction as something insincere or temporary or unreliable? Do I play even a small part in your plan? Or am I just an irrelevant factor?

I hear some distant sounds. Malfoy turns his head and starts to walk to the other body. “Finally.”

I didn’t plan this. I step closer to her. The moment I hear Harry’s voice, I secure a hand in her hair and kiss her.

“How does it feel to lose control?” I ask after being pushed away one second later.


End file.
